


The God's Web

by Ms_Moriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Loki Duplicate, Lokiarty, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Moriarty/pseuds/Ms_Moriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night, Loki visits Jim Moriarty, and his list of demands are extensive - but the consulting criminal isn't left with much of a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The God's Web

Jim Moriarty is staring out the window of his flat, looking down at all the people on the street below, rushing for cover as the London sky cracks open with another flash of lightning. He scoffs at them, with their simple desire to get out of the sudden downpour, their goal no larger than staying as dry as possible. He fully expects that not a single one of them will make the slightest difference in the world. Not that it matters, because that will only make his job easier in the end.

What Moriarty _doesn't_ expect at that moment is for his bell to ring. He hasn't seen anyone approaching, and it's an unusual time for clients – especially since he's certain that he isn't expecting anyone. Moriarty is rigorous about making a strict appointment schedule. Often, his plans are time-sensitive, and he needs to know when things will be happening. Just because _he_ doesn't always stick to his own schedule doesn't mean he appreciates unexpected interruptions. He is a busy man after all, and he can't simply push his priorities aside to meet the needs of others.

“I hope you don't mind. You failed to answer your door, so I let myself in,” an ethereal voice announces with a jarringly cavalier tone.

“Who the hell are you?” Moriarty thunders, spinning around, his dark eyes flashing with anger so intense it would have sent almost anyone fleeing from his sitting room. He had already made a conscious decision to let whatever person was ringing his bell at this hour rot out in the rain. Not because he has anything better to do, but simply because he _can_.

“Consider yourself lucky that I have already decided I intend for you to be my ally, Mr Moriarty,” the man says unflinchingly. After a brief pause, he nods slightly and adds, “ _You_ may have the privilege of calling me Loki.”

The name may sound slightly preposterous, but the man himself looks normal enough, if a bit pretentious. His long, black hair is slicked back, and he's donning a black suit and trousers with ultra-fine pinstripes, a white shirt, solid black tie, and shining in the centre is an ornate gold tie pin, set with with what appears to be a genuine emerald. He even has a cane in his hand, though it's obvious from the way he holds it that it's just for show. Moriarty finds himself wishing that he had opted to at least wear his Westwood, rather than the white v-neck he has been lounging in for the evening. For once, he doesn't feel in command of the room, and it's upsetting him, to say the least.

Moriarty is also becoming rapidly impatient, this intruder has already made it past his security, and is taking up his precious time. “What do you want from me, _Loki_?” he forces the words out, but Moriarty can feel his already loose grip on the situation slipping – something which has never quite happened before. He has always been confident that he is at least an equal to anyone he meets, and far more often, a superior. There is something about Loki which upsets his natural balance, his natural dominance, which puts him on the defensive. He made it into his flat without so much as a sound or raising any alarm. That in and of itself makes Moriarty feel outwitted, something which he _greatly_ resents. And there's something in the stranger's cold, indifferent eyes, which makes Moriarty feel as if he's been pegged as an inferior.

The consulting criminal sidesteps, leaving the line of sight of the window clear, knowing that if he gives the signal, at least one of the snipers in the building opposite will have a clean shot. Assuming they're competent, though Moriarty is painfully aware of the inadequacies of the average human being.

“You seem to be prepared for any _human_ -initiated eventualities,” Loki drawls, bored, while examining the back of his hand, “but let me assure you that your preparations will not be sufficient enough to deter me.”

In defiance, Moriarty immediately raises his left hand and snaps. Not a second later, a bullet cracks the window, hitting Loki square in the chest, but nothing happens. A peppering of bullets ensues, completely annihilating the window, showering his rug with fine shards of glass. A cold gust of air enters the room, bringing a fine mist with it. Moriarty holds up his hand in a cease-fire.

“Though I do admire your effort,” Loki comments as he smiles mischievously.

Moriarty clenches his jaw and glares, doing his best to keep his complete and utter surprise hidden, “You haven't answered my question,” he reiterates, gritting his teeth.

“Ah, yes,” Loki continues, as if he has grown so bored with the situation at hand that he has almost forgotten the purpose behind his visit, “I have a proposition for you, and I recommend you listen closely, because I will not be repeating myself,” he looks up from his hand and directly at Moriarty. “I can do this with or without you, but it is in your best interest to cooperate. It will make both of our lives substantially easier, and _your_ life substantially longer.”

Moriarty knows better than to show weakness, but he finds maintaining a neutral expression more difficult than usual, considering that has never before been legitimately frightened. For one, the man in front of him has just survived a hail of bullets, and Moriarty has no other means of defence that won't injure himself in the process. For another, it is clear that Loki is not one to make idle threats. Whenever Moriarty has been threatened in the past, it has always been by someone who needed him for something – making him more of an asset than a liability. But Moriarty can tell that he is legitimately nothing to this man. Everything about Loki's posture and demeanour exudes superiority, which Moriarty recognises easily, having taken a similar stance more times than he cares to count. What's worse, is that Loki does not seem overconfident, and he certainly isn't bluffing – in Loki's eyes, Moriarty is nothing more than a disposable pawn. Moriarty can't help but wonder where this man has been hiding, with his level of power, he can't have gone entirely unnoticed by everyone. Someone, somewhere, must know something about him.

“I believe you're starting to see my point,” Loki gives Moriarty an unsettling Cheshire smile. “My proposition is this: You're not using your network to its fullest potential, and that is precisely what I intend to do. You run an international criminal organisation, and yet here you are, in a London flat, rather than in a palace of gold, surrounded by luxury. You could have the world at your feet, but you are satisfied with playing trivial games. You are satisfied by the chase, but demand nothing more. You can do so much better, and I intend to help – for a price.” Loki demands, rather than requests. “All I ask in return is access to your resources. I want them all at my disposal, immediately and without question. Is that understood?”

“And if I refuse?” Moriarty sounds almost amused by Loki's preposterous proposition, though his eyes glimmer with annoyance.

Loki's smile hardens, but does not fade, “I find a way to change your mind, or I dispose of you and take what I want by force. It would be relatively painless for you to simply give me what I want, but it's your choice.”

“We seem to have a problem then,” Moriarty raises his eyebrows, “because my network is how I make my living. I started it, and I run it because it's _mine_. I've only just met you, and while I admit that your display has been impressive,” he gestures in Loki's general direction, “I have no _resources_ I am willing to surrender.”

“You seem to misunderstand me. This is not a negotiation, Mr Moriarty, and you are trying my patience. Either you comply, or you do not. It makes little difference to me. Though I _was_ under the impression that most men value their own lives, and would do whatever is necessary to preserve them.”

“Most people will,” Moriarty shrugs nonchalantly, “but I'm not most people.”

“I rather like you,” Loki muses, “You're not standing up to me based upon on some subjective system of morality. I find your mere self-interest... refreshing.”

“Thanks,” Moriarty shrugs off the meaningless compliment. Curious, he asks, “Why are _you_ asking _me_ for help?”

“It has come to my attention,” Loki explains, “That taking everything simultaneously and by force has serious, negative repercussions. I believe that a more subtle approach is necessary to complete my master plan.”

“World domination?” Moriarty scoffs, jokingly.

“Precisely,” Loki affirms with all seriousness. “Humans crave domination. Subjugation. You were made to be ruled, and you will be.”

Moriarty raises his eyebrows emphatically, “So you expect me to give you my life's work, and in return, you enslave me. That doesn't sound like a fair trade.”

“Ah, but you will still have your life,” Loki elaborates.

“Not interested,” Moriarty shrugs, swiping his tongue out across his lower lip. “I answer to no man but myself, thanks.”

“And I do not doubt that,” Loki smiles knowingly, “But I am no man. And you _will_ answer to me. You have no choice.”

At that moment, the suit which Loki had been wearing melts away, and is immediately replaced by an otherworldly suit of armour. The cane in his hand transforms into a golden sceptre with a glowing blue stone, tipped with a curved blade.

Moriarty takes an involuntary step backward. His entire life he has considered himself immune to the fight or flight response. He's been jumped on by men wearing Semtex, and looked down the barrel of more than a few guns, and he had always managed to remain perfectly calm and collected. He's not afraid of dying, but this breaks all his expectations concerning the fabric of reality itself. He briefly considers that he may be dreaming, before discounting the idea. He can still feel the mist hitting the back of his neck through the shattered window, and the slight breeze of air as Loki takes a step in his direction.

“You are all so easily terrified by cheap tricks,” Loki laughs, taking yet another step forward.

“You can hardly blame us,” Moriarty says, keeping his tone even as possible, but it retains the slightest hint of an audible tremor, “It's not something you see every day.”

“Perhaps _you_ don't,” he grins.

Moriarty realises that he has been slowly backed up against the wall. He could make for an exit through the shattered window, were it not for the fact that Loki, with the aid of his sceptre, is now easily within reach. Moriarty steels his gaze, looking directly into Loki's icy eyes – a direct challenge to the intruder.

Loki extends his arm, sceptre in hand, and points it directly at the centre of Moriarty's chest, “Would you like to see what else I can do?”

He touches the tip of the blade to Moriarty's chest, and a chilling sensation sweeps over the surface of Moriarty's skin. He feels as if he has been doused with ice water, inside and out. He wants to hide and take cover, to become anyone but himself at that moment, but something anchors him, and he remains stationary. He insists on maintaining some semblance of self-discipline.

Moriarty's eyes go completely black, but when the darkness fades, his eyes are no longer chocolate brown – however Loki notices immediately that they are also not crystalline blue as they should be. They look like cracked ice over a muddy pond, and Moriarty smirks, unbidden.

“Is that all?” he retorts.

Loki cocks his head to one side, “Strange,” he muses, willing Moriarty to take a step forward. The consulting criminal does indeed step forward, but with a considerable delay and a hint of confusion behind his eyes.

A dawning realisation comes over the Asgardian, and he laughs. “Half-hearted I see,” he starts walking around Moriarty, examining him from all angles, his sceptre hitting the floor with every other step. “You have a heart  _physically_ , but it is so empty of emotion there is no sentimentality to manipulate. You are _full_ of surprises, Mr Moriarty.”

He wills Moriarty to raise his hand to his face – a meaningless, useless gesture. The mental command is given half-heartedly, and Moriarty stands still for almost half a minute before he complies.

“Tell me, how does it feel?” Loki demands, intrigued.

Moriarty shrugs, and shudders slightly as he rocks his head back and forth, “I don't have to obey you.”

“But? There must be more...” Loki observes, “Otherwise you would be attempting to attack me. A foolish idea, might I add.”

Moriarty takes his time answering, but it is unclear if he is resisting, or simply talking his time formulating his response.

“It's like ice melting down my spine, and there's a ringing in my ears. It gets louder and louder until it's all I can focus on.”

“And in the end you will always obey,” Loki perceives. “It would become maddening not to.”

“I've been told I'm already mad,” Moriarty scoffs, “No heart, remember?”

“True,” Loki smiles, “But I wonder... how far can you resist?”

Moriarty defiantly cracks his neck, and Loki is silently fascinated by the fact that Moriarty's will is so strong that he is capable of defiance at all. For a human, he is certainly very persistent.

“Kneel,” Loki commands aloud. Even without his will power compromised, Moriarty would have been tempted to obey, given the imperious tone with which the single word is delivered. As it is, he can feel the word resonate in the marrow of his bones, and it only takes a matter of seconds for him to fall to one knee, his head bowed.

“Even with your defiance, I own you,” Loki begins circling Moriarty again as he speaks, “And so the rest of humanity will fall into line as well, I assure you. When I lift the burden of your independence, you _will_ thank me.”

Moriarty lifts his eyes to meet Loki's and he rolls them forcefully. He makes an effort to stand, but his knee only lifts off the floor a few inches before what feels like a heavy weight falls on his back, though the feeling has no physical source. He lowers himself back onto his knee reluctantly.

“You see how difficult it is to resist?” Loki shakes his head, seeming sympathetic, save for the sardonic gleam in his eyes. “Is it not obvious how much easier it would be to embrace your orders and do as you're told?”

“Easy is boring,” Moriarty drawls. “I don't like easy.”

“Always looking for a puzzle to solve,” Loki remarks, “But where is the reward? You solve one problem, and it fulfils you for only a brief moment, then you remain unsatisfied until the next obstacle presents itself. Do you not wish for an escape from that monotonous cycle? If there is fulfilment in a plan well executed, what difference does it make whose plan it is? I am willing to take on that burden for humanity, and in return I will provide peace. Is that not better?”

“I'm not particularly invested in making things 'better' either,” Moriarty smiles.

“You fight so hard, and it will be your ruin,” Loki looks at him mournfully. 

“But you still need me,” Moriarty observes. “If you kill me, you still won't know anything about my associates, and you certainly won't know how to manage them.”

“True,” Loki concedes, though he is beginning to look mildly annoyed, “But you forget, I control you.”

Moriarty immediately retorts, “Oh, I wouldn't be so sure if I were you.” 

“Silence!” Loki thunders, suddenly losing his patience, his sceptre rapping against the floor so hard Moriarty can hear at least one of the floorboards splinter.

“Or what?” Moriarty quips after a few seconds, though his entire body convulses as if struck with a live wire for disobeying a direct command.

“It pains you to defy me – why do you insist?” The anger is rising in Loki's voice, as his amusement runs out.

“Because it's fun,” Moriarty shivers slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“Enough!” Loki shouts, rattling what little remains of the windows. “I've had enough of your quibbling. It's time that you learn your place, Mr Moriarty.”

“Please, call me Jim,” he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Within a fraction of a second, the blunt end of Loki's sceptre collides with the side of Moriarty's face, sending him crashing into the floor, with nothing but the thin rug to break his fall. Moriarty pushes himself slowly and calmly back onto his knees, his eyes gleaming with utter contempt. He tries once again to rise to his feet, but the futility of the action is immediately apparent. He instead raises his left hand to the side of his face, feeling the stinging welt rising on his cheek.

Loki stands immediately before him, glowering down at the consulting criminal.

“This is your place, and it is not within your power to deny it.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Moriarty responds with a defiant, reptilian roll of his head – though it is becoming obvious that his energy is becoming rapidly drained by his stubborn attempts to defy Loki's command.

Before Moriarty has enough time to blink, Loki's hand is fisted his hair, and wrenching his head backwards so that their eyes meet. Loki leans down, looming over him, and he hisses, “Careful,  _Jim._ ”

The name is pronounced with such animosity that Moriarty can't help but cringe slightly in his compromised state. He can feel his follicles straining against Loki's grip, and while the sensation isn't entirely unpleasant, he notices a notable lack of warmth of the hand which presses against his scalp.

“Who the hell are you, really?” Moriarty inquires sincerely, and perhaps a bit frightened, trying to shake his head, but finding it held perfectly in place.

“I am Loki of Asgard,” he responds coldly, “And _you must learn your place_.”

The hand in his hair is released roughly, but at the same time, Moriarty feels his arms being roughly pulled behind his back and held by long, slender fingers. He attempts to wrench his arms free, turning his head back to meet piercing, green eyes and a wicked grin. Confused, he turns his gaze back, only to meet a pair of identical eyes. 

He swears under his breath, “How the fuck...”

“I'm the god of mischief,” Loki interrupts.

“There's nothing I can't do,” an identical voice answers from behind Moriarty, the cool breath on the back of Moriarty's neck sending shivers down his spine.

Moriarty squeezes his eyes shut, registering the gravity of his situation. At this point, he realises that compliance is his best chance of survival. He doesn't fear death, but he doesn't welcome the idea either, assuming there's a way to avoid it. No amount of talking that will get him out of this, and if he wants to make it into the next day, his best bet is obedience.

“You can have all my contacts,” Moriarty sighs, “And I can be a liaison for you, but my people always take their orders from me, and they won't simply change their loyalty because I say so. In fact, they're ordered not to, in case I'm... coerced.” He practically spits the last word.

Moriarty finds himself surrounded by the sound of Loki's merciless laughter, the sound emanating from both Loki and his double.

“You think I would be satisfied with what you are willing to give?” Loki converses with himself aloud, back and forth between his two manifestations, “You denied me everything I asked, until forced to give it up.”

“How selfish of you...”

“No... I demand something more than what you are willing to surrender. Your resistance has cemented that.”

“And if I can make Jim Moriarty surrender against his will, then the rest of humanity will be mere child's play.”

“What do you value most?” the Loki in front of Moriarty asks, leaning forward and considering him carefully, “A man like you... you crave to solve puzzles, to control the actions of others... but above all, you value your autonomy, without which the others would be impossible. Your independence is your means of manipulating those around you – how you get _your_ way. But you cannot manipulate me, I assure you,” he asserts. “Unfortunately, my sceptre failed to establish my point, but there is another easy way to rid you of the notion that you are in control. Perhaps I cannot control your mind, but your body...”

The duplicate behind Moriarty firms his grip on Moriarty's wrists, using only one hand. The other snakes its way into Moriarty's hair, pulling his head back, and the consulting criminal's eyes meet those of the God of Mischief before him. Loki looks down at Moriarty and grins, his eyes merciless, and gleaming with both derision and satisfaction. 

Loki sets his sceptre against the far wall, and begins to shed his coat. As he pulls his arms free, he casually drops the garment, and the metal plates collide with one another as it piles on the floor. Moriarty cracks his neck defiantly, though he simultaneously swallows nervously. When this is over, he will go back to being exactly the way he was. Moriarty is an immutable force of nature, and he knows it – but he briefly considers whether it is worth losing his dignity for his life. However, he discounts the idea immediately. Even if he were to decide he would rather be dead, suicide is impossible under the circumstances. 

“I will do you the favour of not asking if you're ready,” Loki laughs slightly, “As your answer is inconsequential.”

“The answer is still no,” Moriarty retorts, insisting on conveying his answer, even knowing it will be disregarded.

“Ah, but you are if I say you are,” Loki contends, willing Moriarty into submission. Moriarty's posture relaxes somewhat, but the tension is still visible for a few seconds behind his eyes before it seems to melt away almost completely. Nevertheless, Loki's duplicate maintains his grip, while Loki continues to disrobe, removing layers of luxurious materials and tough armour, until he is left with nothing but his breastplate and leather trousers.

He sticks his thumbs down both sides of the trousers and works them over his hips, freeing himself from the tight, confining material. He sighs as the cool breeze from the window comes into contact with his bare skin.

“You will kneel before me, and receive me as your God,” he breathes, before compelling Moriarty to open his mouth. The consulting criminal doesn't even resist the order, knowing that the less he resists, the sooner it will be over.

When Loki slides himself into Moriarty's mouth, a low laugh escapes his throat, and as he thrusts forward, Moriarty gags slightly, his mouth and throat full of the God of Mischief. Moriarty closes his eyes for only a second before he is mentally commanded to open them, and he does – glaring into the green eyes staring down at him, half-lidded.

As Loki settles into a steady, quick rhythm, he urges Moriarty to bob his head in opposition to his thrusts, pushing himself in further, until he is pushing against the back of Moriarty's throat. He moans unabashedly as Moriarty's throat spasms around him as he swallows.

As one final effort of rebellion, Moriarty tries to bite down as forcefully as he can, but the attempt is hardly successful. On the contrary, his jaw closes only a few millimetres – not enough to do any damage, and Loki lets out a hiss of pleasure as teeth scrape lightly against his sensitive flesh.

Loki's hips lurch forward harder, Moriarty's nose presses against Loki's body, his throat tightening and convulsing upon command. Even involuntary actions seem to be under Loki's absolute control unless he consciously resists. Loki could command him to stop breathing entirely, and he would have to struggle for every single breath until Loki relented, or he ran out of breath.

Moriarty can feel Loki tremble ever so slightly against him. Even the duplicate's hands have developed a slight tremor as Loki nears his climax. The God of Mischief swears under his breath, his voice a low, insistent, otherworldly modulation. He even sounds strikingly dignified, despite his current position. Seconds later, Loki's entire body shudders unreservedly, and out of his mouth comes a long exhale punctuated with a vocalised sigh. His head rolls back and his muscles ripple with small convulsions before they finally relax. 

Moriarty can feel the hot, thick liquid coat the back of his throat, and he puts all his effort into thinking about anything else, as Loki withdraws from his mouth and pulls his leather trousers from around his ankles where they have fallen, back up over his hips. The look on Loki's face is nothing short of self-satisfied. Moriarty feels the grip on his wrists slowly dissolving, and he turns around to find the duplicate gone, leaving him alone once again with Loki. 

Moriarty swallows hard, trying to rid his mouth of the taste of semen, and to steady his nerves before he speaks again. He desperately wants Loki gone, though he refuses to let it show on his features. “So, are we done here?”

“We're far from done, Mr Moriarty,” Loki answers, as he reassembles his outfit piece by piece. “I'm going to need you as a liaison, as you promised, and I will need to keep you informed of any further developments. Therefore, I will be keeping a close eye on you, until such a time that I require you to act. In the meantime, I expect you to behave yourself.” He smirks at Moriarty, before turning to retrieve his sceptre.

Moriarty stands slowly, balancing himself on his hands before righting his posture, unsure of his footing. “And how do you propose I do that?” he inquires, without any attempt to hide the intense annoyance in his voice.

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” Loki announces coolly as he heads for the door.

Moriarty says nothing which would cause the Asgardian to return. He lets him go, glad to be rid of him. Once Loki is out of his sight, Moriarty turns to the window, and looks out over the street.

The thunder has ceased, and it has stopped raining. The ground is scattered with small puddles, and everyone seems to have found cover or made it home for the night. The street is entirely abandoned, except for one, lone retreating figure, with long dark hair and wearing a pristine, pinstriped suit.


End file.
